


Bard's Song

by Madam_Muffins



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fate & Destiny, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Magic-Users, Monsters, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Screw Destiny, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Muffins/pseuds/Madam_Muffins
Summary: Geralt, Yen, and Ciri. The family bound by destiny, magic, and wishes. Whose good intentions pave the road to hell itself. What happens when lost opportunities reappear?Jaskier, making name and fame for himself alongside a disgraced knight errant when his path crosses that of a long lost flame.~☆~ NO UPDATE SCHEDULE ~☆~
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 6





	Bard's Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 finally posted, no regular posting schedule but I'll try to be remotely consistent.

" _Every story begins with a good song."_

And maybe she had been right. Ciri. All those years ago when she’d still been young and asking for stories. Before she'd become the belligerent woman sitting across the table, gulping down a goblet of wine, listening to Yennefer’s shouting with a blank look on her face.

Those green eyes gazing with bored disinterest over the rim of her cup at Geralt.

 _Here we go again_.

Her own mind, her body, her spirit too troubled - too young - to be bothered by the heaviness that warred within the Witcher. Fist clenched around his medallion. What had even made him think of music anyway?

Gaze drifted to look out the window of their home. If it could be called home.

Just another place Yennefer had magicked into opulence. Another gilded cage, another golden prison. Like a kept pet. And it chafed. It always did. She’d always been one for finer things; Yen. His Yen.

But still they found one another, still they merged together. As tumultuous as their relationship was, as ill-suited, there was a comfort in the familiarity of it all.

But still he found himself missing…

“It used to be easier than this.” He interrupted.

Purple eyes widened in first shock, then hurt as both gazes swiveled to him. He could feel the argument mounting like a storm; like lightning building on the horizon. Hot and cold tangling together, static making the hair on his arms and back of his neck rise. _Danger_ the air whispered as it slid in and out of his lungs. He knew this pattern. God he couldn’t avoid it if he wanted.

And, oh, how did he want.

“Come now, Yen.” Ciri pushed her chair back, boots hitting the table as she slurped loudly. “Don’t you wish less for this-” she waved her cup around, motioning to the two of them, their house, “-and more of what we used to have? More of the fighting and killing? Isn’t it simpler-?”

“No!” Yennefer moaned, defeated. “No! Don’t you... “ She sighed, falling into a chair opposite them both. “Don’t you want…?” Inhaling, composing. “You still aren’t fully recovered. We need _more time_.”

Ciri snorted, pulling down her shirt to reveal a faded scar that was almost invisible to the naked eye. “No we don’t need any more time.” She fell back in her seat. “I’m healed, I’m fine.” She took a deep drink. “Geralt is fine, **_you_** are fine. We are fine. We need-”

“But-” Yen looked up at Geralt, “What if your muscles need more time? I just worry that-”

Ciri tensed, empty cup balancing between table and fingers as eyes moved between the two. “You can’t protect me forever, Yennefer. I’m not a child anymore needing your protective embrace.” She shook her head, “I need to get back out there. Even Geralt can’t stand this… _this_. It itches to sit in here and heal and the longer you try to coop me up and force me to play family like this-”

“That’s not what I… I meant to do!” Yen’s face contracted into a frown. “I just want-” Dark hair tangled between fingers as she pushed the mess back off her head.

Fuck but did Geralt think she was beautiful. 

Yen sighed hard, defeated, tired. “You’re all a difficult bunch.”

“A wolf and a lion, Yennefer. Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard to tame wild things.” Ciri stood, cup falling to its side, rolling. “I’m-I’m…” She sighed, running a hand through her paling blonde hair, breathing deep. “I’m taking on a job tomorrow.” Tone apologetic.

Yen’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed.

“I think you lot should join me.” A foot clicked against the floor, sheepish almost; it had been years since Ciri had asked for assistance with a hunt. “Maybe it will… help?”

“Help?” Geralt leaned back, exchanging a tense look with Yen.

“I mean obviously you guys have some tension a good murdering would smooth out.” Cirilla emphasised with a fist to her palm. “I know you and I,” she motioned between herself and Yen, “have got some shit to sort. Maybe we really do just need to get back to something simpler than… y’know. This.” Finger pointed to the ceiling, though her meaning was clear.

Something simpler than playing house, simpler than being bottled in with messy emotions and magic and destiny and politics and witchery and-

“Did you hear me?” Yennefer snapped, purple eyes delving deep into Witcher’s yellow.

With a swallow he hummed deep in his chest, non-committal.

“Of fucking course not.” A finger flicked in the middle of his forehead, making him stumble back in surprise. “Oh, I like that! Taking you by surprise. Never gets old, Witcher.”

“I’m sure.” Eyebrows rose and fell as eyes rolled.

“What do you think of Cirilla’s attitude towards me lately?”

Geralt stiffened, “I-I think she’s a woman now, and wants to make her own choices. You cannot keep her locked up here under the premise of keeping her, and us, safe.”

“Us?” Yenefer’s head did a quick turn. The one Geralt was used to seeing when she was upset. “Premise? What- What do you-” Chest heaved with emotion. “Do you truly know nothing about me still, Witcher?” A hand slapped against her stomach. “I love her. I _love_ her. This is no life for anyone. We’re condemned to it, fine. Fucking **_fine_**. I made my choices and they damned me. But she… she could have had more, better. She _deserves_ at least us striving to give her that and you- You don’t even… you’re content with letting her just… She’s a princess for fuckssake. And you…” Yennefer turned away to compose herself. “ _Us_.” The word spat like venom.

 _Shhhhhiiiiiit_. Geralt inhaled, braced himself. “Yes, us.” He took a step forward, hands wrapping around Yen’s biceps, rubbing them soothingly. “I am a witcher. It is my duty to protect humanity-”

Electricity sizzled out from her skin, snapping the flesh of Geralt’s hands, sorching the table behind them. “Fuck humanity, Geralt!” She hissed, the lightning receding just as quickly as it had bitten. “What about what is _mine_?” She demanded. “What about my-” her voice lowered, eyes watered, “My _daughter_?” Throat moved hard as she swallowed. “Do not take her away from me, and do not ask me to let go.”

“Then join her.” He shook his head, hair skittering over leather. “If you keep her locked up and playing h-”

“DON’T!” A fireball rested at Yennefer’s fingertips, waiting, ready to release. “Do not finish that sentence you wretch of a man. You know what you mean to me, what _she_ means to me.”

Geralt squeezed his eyes closed. Again. Always. Forever it seemed they were at odds. “Of course I do, Yen.” His voice soft, “I know. I’m-”

“Apologize and I’ll roast you like the pig you truly are.” She was crying, he knew. He could tell by the softest of waiver in her voice. 

His Yennefer, so strong. Still so alone.

Fuck, what had he done to her.

“We’ll go.” Yennefer stood down. “Tomorrow, let us join our Lioness on her hunt. Maybe we can… I-I don’t know. Recover.” She sighed, touching the burnt marks on the table, again renewing it to perfection. 

The silence between them awkward, poignant. It always was when they were like this. And damned if Geralt ever knew how to fix it. Yennefer deigned to break the oppressive quiet.

“Imagine the great White Wolf at the mercy of a sorceress like me.” She chuckled, “Quite the sight.” Finger trailed under his chin as eyes dipped to lips, back to eyes. “Will you come to me tonight, Geralt?”

Voice unsure, reaching out and tentative. And it had been so long since she had asked that the idea made his knees buckle, his stomach swarm. He loved her for her olive branch. So strong and fierce and for all that she just wanted a family. Acceptance.

Her cage being seen for what it truly was; refuge, safety. She tried so hard and it was so often lost on him. But for all her attempts to be so much more… his gaze moved over her shoulder as feminine arms wrapped around him, to the table that had been burned but moments before.

“After.” Geralt pried himself loose. “After tomorrow, after our job. When we’re…” _Healthier_. “Not at one anothers throats.”

Yennefer frowned, hurt. Blistering from rejection. “There was a time you’d kill to be in me even when we were bleeding one another.” She tsked, turning. “Have it your way. Maybe I’ll seek the company of another tonight then.” He could almost see the anger and cold seeping over her. “We both know I could.”

“And there it is.” He muttered after her retreating black skirts as she stormed the stairs, righting Ciri’s cup. “I fucked it up again.” A heavy sigh, hot from his diaphragm. Nothing with Yennefer felt like winning, even when they were good.

**~☆~☆~**

  
“Why did it have to be-” Yennefer let a blast of energy release, watching as it shredded through two of the hell hounds, “-fucking ghouls?” Her nose crinkled. “Uhg, the smell is atrocious.”

Ciri didn’t bother with a response, sword in action; arcing across the torso of a hunched figure. Slice, jab. Feet dancing in an intricate pattern, back to back with Geralt as they moved further into the pack. Rot and blood burned in the cold air of the crypt.

Geralt grunted, pushing off the wall with a kick. Twist, slice. Elbow to the mouth of a ghoul, sword to the throat of another as he pulled a bomb from his belt. Ciri ducking under a leaping ghoul, blade thrusting up, entrails spilling upon her.

The hum of metal dancing through flesh, a song of silver hitting bone reverberated off the walls.

Flame cackled, a handful of monsters shrieking inhumanely as their flesh burnt, bodies twisting. Yennefer wicked in her own form of attack.

"Are we about ready?" Geralt lifted his weapon, flint and striker held aloft.

"Do it!" Ciri panted, lopping off a ghoul's head, straightening. "Before more come out of that fuck-"

"Ciri!" Yennefer yelled, opening a portal between herself and the woman.

Ciri turned, blade drawn.

Yennefer appearing between Ciri and the mangled ghoul.

Ciri's blade sinking into Yen's arm even as the sorceress's own delved deep into the skull of the beast.

"W-well…" Ciri gasped, sheathing her sword. "I think-" the blaze behind them grew, shadows severe on the walls, tombstones less haunting. "-I think we've earned a pint or two, hmm?"

Geralt turned to Yen, purple gaze clashing with the back-lit yellow, almost as on fire as the den. Anger and adrenaline and pain and lust setting them as on fire as the corpses around their feet.

"Hmm."

~☆~☆~

  
Ciri craned back on the bench, her clothes still covered in blood; stained. "-and you wouldn't have guessed how many ghouls were down there-"

"I heard they were alghouls?" A barmaid dropped another tankard, picking the empty one up. "Were they truly only ghouls?"

"Only." Ciri snorted. "A fuckin' den, madam." She wrapped her hand around the drink, lifting it as a collective gasp rose up from her audience, when Geralt's fell over the top.

"Haven't you had enough?" Yellow eyes pinned her meaningfully.

"Oh, let her be, _White Wolf_." Yennefer interjected. "After all," her gaze was angry, "she's an adult."

The echo of his own words being tossed in his face left a bitter flavor lingering in the air between them; whatever excitement and worry might have been building from earlier quickly faded in the animosity Yennefer had been festering.

A murmur of agreement rose up from those who were brave enough to listen to the tales of Ciri the Lioness. The Witcher leaned back, adjusted in his seat, taking a drink himself. Washing down the vile taste of rejection.

 _Fuck this shit_. Eyes roved over the crowd as he picked up parts of conversation.

_"...what I wouldn't give to show that one a good time."_

_"A real Witcher! I wonder if he's_ **_the_ ** _-"_

_"... an entire den!"_

_"They're alive."_

_"Fucking freaks."_

He swallowed again. The dialogue hadn't changed too much in the last handful of years. Only now he worried more about those who would take advantage, not that Ciri couldn't handle herself but if she were too drunk she could kill someone and that would be…

Another drink appeared.

 _How are we paying for this?_ Eyes rose as Yen did, off to flirt with the infuriating man winking across the room.

It hurt, it stung, it enraged him... it was normal. Their eternal dance. A deeper draught from his tankard brought it half empty.

Eyes closed. So familiar. A braggart regaling tales with embellishments at his side, the sounds of people existing; their smells and resonations vibrating through him. The rustle of clothes, hush of voices. Even the lighting and drying herbs were a smack of nostalgia to the gut. Whatever was cooking all day clinging in the air with sweat and filth and sweet heavy in the air.

"You know what you need?" A bold young woman stood, fucking gulsi strapped to her back. "A bar-"

"The **_hell_** we do." Geralt growled, in no mood to fall deeper in the hellhole of memories, of feeling.

"I-I…" Eyes widened in shock. "That's just rude."

"Don't mind him!" Yen hollered from across the room. "Sing!"

Ciri's fingers tangled in the black leather of his sleeve as the bard snagged a stool, set up beside the fire. "Are you-"

Geralt responded by taking a drink, by tugging out of her grasp.

He was _fine_. It was just another stupid bard. Just another fucking ridiculous singer with an over-inflated sense of-

And she strummed.

And the chords were achingly familiar. "This is one we all know." She smiled out, crooked teeth disarmingly charming, dimples on display. "I think we all know it by now. Feel free to sing along."

A deep breath, a pause.

_"The fairer sex they call it._   
_But her love's as unfair as a crook"_

_A bard's song_. Air hissed in through teeth.

He missed it though, and maybe that was all it took. The simplicity of _missing_ something. Witchers were not made for an idle life. And that is what he had been struggling against for a fortnight. He had been craving the feel of bruised skin, the weight and resistance of blade through flesh and bone, the adrenaline of a good fight - even the pain of a sour outcome.

Geralt of Rivia was no fool to forget the sorrow of his tasks.

But to wish for… for _music_? He hummed deep in his throat, golden eyes reflecting the soft glow of the tavern's light, ale tankard half empty. Almost wearily he took another swallow. Humming the tune with the bard despite not knowing the words.

_"She'll destroy with her sweet kiss,_   
_Her sweet kiss._   
_But the story is this…"_

"That's it." He tsked. "That's…" A sharp laugh barked out through lips that did not smile. _The atmosphere_.

How often had they idled at a tavern, singing and drinking, lute strumming to bawdy, heartfelt, stirring lyrics that made people _feel_ something. Most too scared to join the Witcher themselves, but fuck all if Jaskier hadn’t always done something to include him - never scared.

Geralt took another drink; long, hard. Empty horn cup knocking hollow against wood. That’s all this was. Nostalgia.

_Fuck._

Eyes rose to find Yen, shocked to see her stiff and angry. Pale, gaze glued on the bard. Geralt tuned in again.

_"I’m weak my love, and I am wanting_   
_If this is the path I must trudge_   
_I welcome my sentence_   
_Give to you my penance_   
_Garrotter, jury and judge."_

Chills ran down his spine. Fingers tightened on his cup. It was foolish to feel… moved by this. It was just a song, just a- but those honey brown eyes looked back at Geralt as her sad voice weeped lyrics. And it wasn't just a song, it was so much more. It was a destructive kiss framed by raven hair. It was purple eyes turning blue, shining like water. It was a crooked little grin heading right for him. It was a dimpled smile over a bathtub telling him he was wanted. It was quips and ribbing with no ill will. His opposite. His best friend.

It was an explosion of emotion driving all that away.

 _Fuck_ he shouldn't have come tonight. Taverns made Geralt dwell in memories, made him feel things he tried to forget; tried to avoid after-

And even as she jumped into a drinking song the chill of the last one sunk into his bones. Geralt couldn't bear to look at Yen, not right now.

"What was that song?"

"What?" Ciri chuckled, "Have you been under a rock? Jaskier composed it. Pretty obvious what it's about." Her chin tilted.

Geralt followed the path to an obviously enraged Yennefer, violet gaze dancing fiery in the shadows of the tavern.

"What?" Dizzy. Geralt felt dizzy.

" _Her Sweet Kiss_." Ciri offered. "Looks like Yen's pissed. We should probably go-"

"You didn't want to dance?" An eyebrow perked, gaze pinned Ciri.

"I think if I do after that she'll kill us both instead of just you." Ciri slapped down some coin.

Geralt stood. "Time to go then."

“Ay, be gone with ye!” Some jackass shouted.

The bard stopped, though it hardly mattered as most the tavern was too drunk to notice she wasn’t leading their merrymaking, dancing and singing obliviously.

“Will you be leaving then, little Lioness?”

Ciri giggled, swayed. “Yes we will.” 

Geralt's fist tightened, gaze never leaving her. He could feel Yennefer approach them, sweep by. The air outside as she exited was cool; blissfully so. Geralt yearned to be out of this hellhole.

“I will mourn our loss of you then and sing songs of you in the meantime.”

“You flatterer!” Ciri laughed, slapping a thigh. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“She will though, won’t she?” Geralt’s eyes narrowed in on her, sensing the honesty in the bard’s words. He tsked, turning. “All bards, all the same.”

“Still rude!” Her words followed him out as Ciri chased after.

“Like I give a shit.” He groused, sliding the bit into Roach’s mouth, saddle resting just behind his mounts withers. “Exhale, Roach.” On command, and with a quick, sharp elbow to her ribs, the mare let out a whoosh of air, allowing the cinch to be pulled tight under her front legs. “Good girl.”

“I swear.” Yen snapped, already mounted on a piebald she would undoubtedly not keep for long. “You love Roach more than any other creature in the world.”

And Geralt responded as he always did; “Not more than _any_ other creature.”

Yen scoffed, rolling her eyes. Which was one of two ways she always responded; the other being a sly grin and slight blush. But they were on a downward spiral, and there would be no flirtations tonight.

“Do you not even care?” Yen snapped.

“About what? Your arm?” Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “Of course I care. You were _stabbed_ -”

“And yet you don’t think once to even ask.” Yennefer growled, purple eyes glowing. “And of Ciri-”

“No!” Ciri spoke up, “Not me. I’m fine.” She smiled, looking up into the sky, “The stars are brilliant and I am drunk and a bard wants to sing of me.”

“B-but you-”

“You jumped in the way, Yen.” Geralt tried to keep his voice gentle. “Ciri had that ghoul, she was-”

“She was in danger!” Yennefer screamed, the air around her warping, pulsing outwards in a hard blast. “And you would have stood by and done nothing to-” Furiously she wiped at a tear that had fallen without permission. “And you still would do nothing. But the moment I do I am labelled as emotional and irrational and you mock me? How dare you.” A rip in the horizon behind her danced vertically.

“Yen, no. Wait!” Geralt moved, urging Roach forward despite her nervousness.

“I am not to be mocked by anyone!” She hissed, voice breaking, eyes flashing as she wheeled her mount around, disappearing into the portal that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

The night sky and endless grasslands filled the space where Yen had once been.

“Oh, there she goes again.” Cirilla laughed, deep and ale laced, Kelpie keeping her even gait despite Ciri’s unsteady grip on the reigns. “Our temperamental Yen.”

“Don’t-” Geralt growled, turning back on Roach to reproach Ciri.

“I know!” Ciri rolled her eyes, pulling up beside Geralt. “I know.” A fist nudged on Roach’s withers. “She just…” a sideways hum vibrated out of the teen. “I’m not a child anymore. I have to do what I can and you know. I know you don’t think I see it, but it hurts to see you two together.” Ciri’s drunkenness fading with her serious words. “Apart you’re… everything. Yen is powerful and strong and I learn so much from her as a woman. And you-” Ciri turned her gaze towards him as they rode on.

“Well, I learned to fight from you. My sense of justice, right and wrong.” She sighed, “But together it’s like-”

Geralt hummed, casting a sharp glare at his ward.

“Oohh, scary!” She teased, “Did I offend the great and terrible Witcher? Hit a nerve, a soft spot?” She snorted, sombered. “But you must know… growing up with your guys’ fighting, your frequent falling outs… it was hard for me.” Face turned away to admire the scenery opposite. “I-I don’t get to say it much, I don’t want to hurt her. But I wish you two just-just _wouldn’t_.”

Gerlat’s frown deepened at the admission.

_‘But I wish you two just wouldn't.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually hate Yen, I do -however- struggle with her character so. I got beta reader(s) to help. Haha, is that sad?

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please if you're interested follow my tumblr - madammuffins or madams-fics - for updates, snippets, or spoilers.


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